Together, they entered a spacious hall with wide-planked pine floors covered by a wool runner in deep blues and golds. To the left, the opening to the large, bright kitchen had been roped off with electric yellow crime-scene tape, but it looked as though the authorities had already pored over every inch of the room. Black smudges where fingerprints had been lifted spotted the pale lavender walls, beige granite counters, and cherry cabinets. Even the stainless steel appliances were smudged with powder. Cooper stared at a red-black stain on the pine floor and shivered. Trying to block the image of Brooke's body splayed upon the polished wood, she lifted her eyes to the lovely hand-painted border of African violets that ran along the perimeter of the walls. The delicate flowers seemed in defiant juxtaposition to the ink smears and disheveled drawers, some of which were stuck open--spatulas, knives, cheese graters, and tongs poking out at odd angles. Cooper stared at the utensils and the overturned trash can and then turned away from the room where Brooke Hughes had been shot to death.
"What a mess," Nathan remarked. "Looks like the cops have left no stone, fork, or spoon unturned." He shook his head sadly. "I guess we'd better not go in there."
Grateful to avert her gaze from the once-cheerful kitchen, Cooper trailed behind Nathan as they walked past a sophisticated living room done in salmon and forest greens, opened the door to a downstairs bath, a book-lined reading room, and a sun room filled with comfortable chairs and mammoth potted ferns. The room faced the back garden and looked like a heavenly place to sit and
while
away an afternoon with a good book and a cup of coffee. There was a formal dining room with filmy draperies floating from ceiling to floor in romantic folds of ivory silk. Cooper ran her finger over the upholstered chairs and thought about how the window treatments resembled the train of a wedding dress.
"This is really hard," she whispered gazing out a bay window into the side yard. "I feel like I'm spying on them and we haven't even gone through any of their things yet."
As they moved upstairs, Cooper tried to shake off the feeling that she was moving through a place that had been permanently marked by tragedy.
Focus
, she told herself firmly.
People are a lot like machines. There are always clues that something isn't running right. I just need to keep my eyes open and look for the little details--the thing that's out of place.
Once Cooper and Nathan reached the top of the stairs, the hall split into a T. Cooper turned to the left and entered a small bedroom with a set of twin beds. She then poked her head into a laundry room, guest bath, and a room that clearly belonged to Caleb, the Hugheses' son. Cooper was taking in the bookshelves filled with trophies, CDs, and books when Nathan called out, "The office is down here!"
The Hugheses had a large master bedroom suite, complete with his and hers walk-in closets, a sitting room with a fireplace, and a bathroom featuring a deep claw-foot tub. A door next to a massive Victorian chest of drawers led into a small office. The only furniture within was a desk, a side table, a straight-back chair, two sets of filing cabinets, and a narrow bookshelf bearing business and legal books, a dictionary, and photographs of the Hughes family.
There was a single window in the office, flanked on one side by a framed print of Van Gogh's
Irises
and on the other by a framed letter and a dry-mounted newspaper article. Cooper read the title of the article and studied the photograph. It was a short piece in the
Richmond Times-Dispatch
announcing the promotion of three Capital City employees. Cooper immediately recognized Brooke Hughes, though her hair was noticeably shorter, as the new head of Fraud. On her right, standing a few inches away from her shoulder was a dark-skinned man with a thick mustache. Cooper assumed he was Jay Kumar, who had been named as Capital City's new project manager.
The third proud employee was a man named Reed Newcombe, who had been promoted to head of IT. Reed had a large, square head, a sparse goatee, and thinning hair. He had a slight build with a light paunch and was captured in time in the photograph shaking the hand of the man standing next to him. Listed as Vance Maynard, executive vice president of Capital City, the man in the center of the photo seemed close to Reed's age, but was more attractive than his employee and had a leaner, more athletic body. He was also noticeably taller than Reed. Vance wore tinted glasses and a practiced smile.
"Good for you, Brooke--breakin' into the boys' club," Cooper complimented the dead woman's image.
"Boys' club?" Nathan raised his eyebrows.
"Believe me, I know about being good at something most folks think only men can do." She gestured at Brooke's photograph. "She was in a white-collar world, but I bet plenty of Capital City folks still doubted whether Brooke could do what they considered to be a man's job. It took me two years of going to the same offices before those folks realized I was as good, if not better, at fixing machines than my male coworkers."
"Remind me never to doubt your skills," Nathan quipped. "What's that typed note about?"
Cooper examined the framed letter, which had been written to Brooke by Vance Maynard, the same executive vice president from the newspaper article. She then read it aloud for Nathan's benefit. The letter formally announced Brooke's promotion but went on to compliment Brooke on her devotion, hard work, and adherence to good ethics. It was a very personal and flattering letter.
"Mr. Maynard must be a cool guy to work for," Cooper remarked before turning her attention to Brooke's desk.
The desk was covered with two paper trays, a coffee mug stuffed with pens, and several books. One was open, and a sticky note had been fastened near the top gutter of the left page. The garbage can was full of papers and pile of documents filled the out-box while only one sheet lay within the in-box. Cooper turned to the piece of office equipment perched on a small table beneath the window.
"A Brother MFC-8860 laser flatbed all-in-one." Cooper admired the machine. "Nice."
An orange light was flashing on the machine, indicating that it was out of paper. Cooper's mind immediately leapt into repair mode. Nothing was sitting in the printer tray and Cooper saw no signs of jams. Based on years of experience, she pulled the machine slightly away from the wall, hoping that the last print job had fallen behind the machine. "Aha!" she exclaimed as a sheet of paper, freed from where it was pinned against the wall, slid onto the floor.
"What's that?" Nathan asked.
Cooper knelt down and grabbed the paper. Bringing it back into the light, she examined the letters and numbers printed on the top. "It's a fax. There's a phone number here, followed by a code that identifies a specif c fax machine." She held the paper out for Nathan to examine. "I have a feeling the police never saw this. It's all covered in dust."
Puzzled, Nathan looked at the sheet and read:
FORGET ABOUT HAZEL
"Nathan, this seems an awful lot like a threat." Cooper reclaimed the letter and placed it on the desk, warily, as though it still had the power to harm. "The name Hazel was also mentioned in the document jammed in Brooke's work copier. We should show both papers to the police right away. Maybe they can find out who this Hazel person is."
His brow creased in thought, Nathan began searching through the papers in the garbage. He dug out a sheet of paper from the bottom of the trash can and sat back on his heels, his eyes wide. The paper repeated the same text as the fax Cooper had found. Nathan turned the trash can upside down and shifted through assorted pieces of junk mail and clothing catalogues. Apparently, the weight of the other mail had pressed downward so that the faxes had formed a compressed pile on the bottom of the can. It was easy to imagine Brooke trying to hide the notes from sight, but Cooper and Nathan could see that someone had gone out of their way to get their point across to her.
Nathan laid out sheet after sheet on the surface of Brooke's desk. "They all say the same thing."
Cooper examined the copy in her hand more carefully. Next to what appeared to be a local number identifying the fax machine sending the message, there was a date. The fax had been sent the Friday Cooper had met Brooke Hughes at Capital City. Cooper compared her copy to those Nathan took from the trash. They were all dated the same Friday, which, according to Brooke's wall calendar, was April 6.
"There must be twenty copies here," Nathan observed aloud. "But who sent them?"
"Only one way to find out." Cooper reached for the phone and pressed the speaker button. The blare of the dial tone in the silent room caused her heart to skip a beat. As she punched the numbers into the keypad, she couldn't help but wonder if, in a matter of seconds, they'd be listening to the voice of Brooke's killer.
After a single ring, a recorded voice alerted them that it was necessary to add an area code when dialing that number. "Looks like the number's not as local as I thought." Cooper took a deep breath and then redialed.
"JessMark's Shipping of Chesterfield. This is Mark. How can I help you?"
"Ah, hi." Cooper quickly gathered her thoughts. "I received a fax here at work and I don't know who sent it. Do you folks keep records of your outgoing faxes?"
"For a month, yes. But we don't keep cover letters or anything like that. Just a receipt showing the fax was received and the time and date it was sent." A pause. "In case someone says that it didn't go through. That happens a lot," Mark added with a hint of ire.
"I'm sure you get questioned all the time," Cooper sympathized. "See, my boss thinks that I've misplaced this fax she received on Friday, April 6 at 5:43 p.m., but I wasn't even in the office at that time. Is there any chance you can check the records for me and make sure it actually got here? I've never lost one before and to tell you the truth,"--she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper--"I think the temp who's been working here in the evenings is reading all the faxes and deciding which ones are important before my boss gets a chance to look at them." Cooper cleared her throat nervously. "Thing is, my butt's on the line over this whole thing and I can't afford to lose this job."
"Well, we can't let that happen," Mark responded kindly. "Let me put you on hold and I'll ask my wife to check our report for the beginning of the month. She's better at all the tech stuff than I am. What's the number where you received the fax?"
Nathan and Cooper exchanged panicked looks. "Um ..." Cooper lifted the phone from its cradle in order to see if the number had been written underneath while Nathan frantically read over the numbers listed on a bulletin board tacked to the wall next to the door. When he spotted the words
Home Fax
, he elbowed Cooper and she hastily repeated the digits to Mark.
Putting the phone back on speaker mode, Nathan and Cooper continued to search Brooke's office as Etta James kept them company through the phone line.
"Mark's got good taste in music," Nathan said as he opened desk drawers. "Usually you hear elevator music when you're put on hold. This is refreshing." Flipping through a stack of papers in the out-box, he looked up at Cooper. "What kind of music do you like?"
Cooper opened one of the file cabinets and began to read the printed labels on the file folders. Brooke had created folders for medical and tax records, bank statements, insurance documents, appliance warranties, and the like. Nothing in the file seemed connected to Capital City. "I like the Beatles," she answered, sliding the top drawer shut. She then thought about the songs Drew had always chosen on the jukebox at their favorite bar and added, "I also like Elvis, Simon & Garfunkel, U2, Bruce Springsteen, Billy Joel, Fleetwood Mac, and a bunch of country singers. You?"
"I like real musicians. I don't care what the genre is, but I like people who write and play their own music and aren't just a pretty face backed by computers." He gestured at the fax machine. "Ms. James could sing, yessir. But as far as contemporary stuff goes? My two latest CD purchases were Norah Jones and Josh Groban. If those two don't sound like a pair of angels, then I don't know who does."
"You still there?" Mark's voice cut off Etta's crooning.
"I sure am. Just enjoying your hold music," Cooper answered.
Mark laughed. "That's my wife Jessica's doing. I was all for ordering Muzak and she said we'd lose customers by the fistful. Guess she was right
again
. Anyhow, I've got the reports and am sorry to say that I've only got bad news for you."
"Oh?"
"Not only did the fax go through to your number, but it would have been mighty hard to miss when it arrived."
Cooper frowned. "I'm not following you."
"According to our report, that fax was twenty-five pages long." He hesitated. "I think you might have to talk things out with the temp."
"Yeah, I guess so," Cooper said, nodding. Then, her head snapped up and she asked, "Does anyone else work there besides you and your wife? I mean, do you think you'd remember who sent this fax? Maybe that would help me figure out what it was about."
"It's just the two of us on the weekdays and we close at six. I haven't sent a fax that long in ages, so it must've been Jess. I'll put her on."
"I feel really bad about lying to the guy," Cooper whispered to Nathan. "He's gone out of his way to be helpful."
"I know, but we've got to find out every detail." Nathan picked up the calendar from Brooke's desk and glanced at it briefly.
"Hello?" A perky voice picked up the receiver. "We've got a rush of folks in here now, so I've got to be quick. I only remember that a man wearing mirrored sunglasses and a baseball hat sent that fax. The only reason I can even call him to mind was that he acted weird. Yep. Odd and rude. He just gave me the papers, ordered me not to look at them in this bossy tone, and then turned his back while they went through. When I handed him the original copies and the receipt, he shoved them all in our shredder and walked out without another word! No 'thank you' or 'bye now.' Nothin'!"